


Devotion

by g_thorn



Category: Justin and the Knights of Valour (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Creampie, Dirty Talk, KIND OF SUGAR DADDY ELEMENTS, M/M, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25503088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_thorn/pseuds/g_thorn
Summary: Sota has some questions about the Future. Heraclio has some very firm answers.
Relationships: Heraclio/Sota
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeadlyWeiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadlyWeiss/gifts).



Sota has been thinking, as he often does, about the Future, So On, and So Forth, and what it entails. A great deal of this thinking is done out loud, though it’s only the tail end of it that Heraclio really pays attention to. 

Sota sighs, swinging his legs. “I suppose the title of consort is off the table, but concubine is rather good too, isn’t it?” He smiles, though there’s something bitter to it. “Just as long as you don’t forget about me when you go and get yourself a queen of your own.”

Heraclio has him cornered as the last words slip out of his mouth, hands firm on the table. Sota swears he can hear the ancient wood splinter beneath his fingers. His eyes are dark, thunderous. Sota forgets to breathe. 

“You think I would _degrade_ you with the title of concubine?”

“It’s not degrading, not really, just not quite as goo–” 

“You would be neither concubine nor queen, but King Consort in your own right. I would not degrade you with lesser titles, Sota.” His gaze is firm, and when Sota looks away, his heart racing, Heraclio takes his chin and _makes_ him turn. “We’re staging a revolution, Sota. Do you think me so vain as to refuse you your right just because you are a man?”

Sota tries to keep his gaze, but his face is red, and suddenly the embroidery on his own tunic is _incredibly_ interesting. He fiddles with a loose thread. Heraclio takes his hand.

“Sota.” 

“ _Sir Heraclio_ ,” Sota says, trying to sound smug. His voice quakes, instead. “You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

“No,” he says, even as he brings Sota’s hand delicately to his lips. Sota takes a sharp breath. “I have principles, and I intend to follow them.” 

“And those principles involve wedding me and lavishing me with gifts?” 

“Yes.”

He meant it as a joke. He should have known. 

“Oh.”

Heraclio smiles a little, raising his face from Sota’s hand to loom over him properly. He tries to retreat, but Heraclio’s grip is firm enough to hurt. Sota makes a little noise in the back of his throat, the unspeakable sort, the kind he’ll try to forget later. 

“You’re not usually at a loss for words, Sota. Has something I’ve said bothered you?” 

He presses closer, the heat of his body radiating through the blood red velvet of his tunic. Sota resists the urge to run his fingers over the soft material. He’s always wanted to work with velvet. He can hardly move now, anyway, what with Heraclio taking his wrists in hand and holding him firm, his body finding its rightful place between Sota’s thighs. He swallows, throat tight.

“No. Not bothered. Just surprised.”

“You think little of me.”

“No!” Sota says, even as Heraclio is smiling. He’s caught under Heraclio’s heavy gaze. “I.”

“You think little of yourself, then.” He doesn’t deny it; can’t deny it. Heraclio is looking at him now with something like hunger, and it takes all his power not to squirm under the intensity of it. His heart is pounding in his chest, his blood a chemical cocktail of fear and anxiety and arousal and _adoration_. He shudders as Heraclio moves a hand to his thigh, stroking gently.

“Normally, you would be waxing poetic about the things you intend to have me buy you–fine silks and velvet, precious gems and jewels. Should I tell you, then, the things I would give to you?”

“Milord–”

“Your own estate, your own servants; though I doubt I need to state that. Your every whim cared for and catered to,” he rumbles into Sota’s ear, hand moving up and in to stroke dangerously close to his cock hardening in his tights. “With all that I would lavish on you, and, not just for my attentions, but for all that you would accomplish with your own skill, you’d be the envy of any prying eyes at court.” 

Sota makes a noise halfway between a moan and a sob at the thought.

“Do you like the thought of that? Being put on display, like that? Countless would envy your power, others would want you for your beauty. But they would not have nor harm you.”

Heraclio takes his hair in hand then, suddenly, tugging and pulling tight to force Sota to look at him. 

“You would be _mine_ and no one else’s. Do you understand this, Sota?”

His cool eyes are ablaze, and Sota can barely choke out a ‘yes’ before Heraclio is on him, kissing him with fury and teeth. He pulls his hair tight enough for tears to well in Sota’s eyes as he wraps his thin arms around the broadness of Heraclio’s back. Heraclio palms him properly, now, his hand large and warm and rough, even through the fabric of his hose. 

“How do you want this, Sota?” he says, as Sota ruts into his hand. “Should I bend you over, here, and have my way?” Sota whimpers in response, lowering his head so Heraclio can’t see his flushed face. He lets go of Sota’s hair, his cheeks nearly as red, to lift his chin with the touch of his finger. Sota’s feels both dry in the mouth and on the verge of drooling. 

“I think you should stop talking and fuck me,” he says, defiantly, sliding his fingers into Heraclio’s curls. His voice trembles as he makes a valiant attempt to taunt. Heraclio smirks, his mouth twitching in amusement. 

“You feel well enough to give orders, then.”

Heraclio turns him over, pressing him into the wood. Sota laughs a little and groans as he hears his hosiery ripping underneath Heraclio’s hands, buries his face in his arms as he listens to the slick noises of Heraclio fucking him open, fingers slick with oil retrieved from Sota’s bag. His motions are swift and brutal and just enough to get him prepared before Heraclio takes him, his thick fingers now pressing bruises into his hips. The table creaks with his effort, and Sota, half amused, half aroused, considers if Heraclio could actually fuck him hard enough to break something. With enough goading, probably. He almost has himself under control for a moment before Heraclio starts speaking again, his mouth dropping to Sota’s ear, one hand reaching up to hold his throat. 

“Is this how you would want it? I would do this for you, Sota, if any denied your right. Force them to kneel and watch as I prove my claim to you. I am not ashamed of you.”

His cock presses into the table, painfully, and he reaches down to stroke himself. Heraclio pins his wrists with shocking speed. He whimpers.

“Please.”

“Say it, Sota. Tell me what you want and I will grant it.”

He hiccups a sob as Heraclio thrusts sharply.

“ _Please_ , touch me.”

“Not yet. Not until you know,” he says, and pulls Sota off the table, his slim back pressed in such a way that he can feel all of Heraclio’s strength against him. “Tell me, Sota. Who do you belong to?”

Sota strains against his hold, chest heaving.

“Who do you belong to? Say it.”

“You!” Sota sobs, tears running uncontrollably down his face. “My _King!_ ”

Heraclio smiles wickedly.

“Good boy.”

He’s barely touched him, nothing more than a firm stroke and Sota cums over his fingers, legs trembling as Heraclio holds him steady. He pushes on, fucks him through it as Sota is overstimulated and helpless in his arms. He finishes with a low groan, more than Sota has ever heard from him, and stays inside as he finishes, raising his slick hand so Sota can suck it clean, absent-minded and dazed. Sota is glad, as his mind returns to him, for the bitter cold of their mountain base. He’s altogether too warm already, and he can’t imagine Heraclio is much more comfortable. Heraclio pulls out, finally, coming to his own senses, and Sota turns over so he can fix him with a withering look. 

“You’ve ruined my tights.” He pouts and pokes at the poor shredded things still clinging to his thighs. He tries to ignore the mess of Heraclio’s slick spilling out of him. “I sewed them myself.”

Heraclio pulls him into another searing kiss, tongue and teeth and heat. Sota clings to him, helplessly, carding his fingers through his King’s hair.

“I’ll buy you a better pair,” he says, firmly. 

“Okay,” Sota replies, dazed. Heraclio smiles down at his work, and Sota blinks dreamily.

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd end up writing fic for this movie! I used to put it on as background noise when having sleepovers, because I, admittedly, think it's a pretty bad movie? And not even in a 'good-bad' way. But in the process of writing this I ended up falling pretty hard for these two. I really loved your ship notes for these two, and it really inspired me. Here's to you, DeadlyWeiss!


End file.
